


All Dolled Up

by WhoopsOK



Series: The Dollhouse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Age Play, Dean Winchester Cries During Sex, Dean in Panties, Doll Dean, Dollification, Dollmaker Castiel, Dom Sam Winchester, Dom/sub, Feminization, M/M, Middle Castiel, Multi, Objectification, Pampering, Service Submission, Sexist Language, Sub Dean, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 18:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14598876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: "For Sam, it was a slow acclimation. Watching his big brother disappear under the creams and powders, soft fabrics in soft colors he would otherwise never wear.When Castiel turns Dean around to face the mirror, though, the shock of finding himself obscured visibly passes through his body."(In which Castiel pampers Sam and it gives him the idea to pamper Dean all the way into a dress and make-up.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely inspired by the Damp Verse, but not expressly connected to it. 
> 
> To sum up the dynamic: Dean is a little and Castiel is usually littler than him; Sam is their Dom/Caregiver. Dean has a wetting fetish that Sam and Castiel don’t mind indulging in. (He also has a messing fetish that doesn’t show up here except for Sam making a joke.) 
> 
> Guess who doesn’t know how to write short things? You’re right, it’s me.

Sam doesn’t mind standing down from time to time.

Yeah, the Dom and Big in him both run deep; he _likes_ having to think things out and take control of the situation (and, well, people too if he lets himself think about that). The one time he’d ever spoken to anyone else about being _this_ , he’d described it as similar to how introverted people are charged up by staying in alone and extroverted people are charged up by being out in a group. Being a Dom, for two wonderful little subs, charges him up even when it tires him out. He loves it.

Still, there’s something nice about the kind of treatment that sort of blurs the line between dominance and submissiveness. In this instance, he doesn’t feel like he has to put in effort to let himself be moved at will and just… _take_ whatever happens. Trust that it’s something good because it _does_ feel good.

When he feels a tap on the back of his knee, Sam silently lifts his foot out of the wash basin.

Castiel’s hands always feel good and pressing his thumbs into the soles of Sam’s feet is no exception. Sam lets out a slow breath, relaxing even further into his seat which is a pretty impressive feat considering he already felt spectacularly melted. He’s honestly starting to doze a little by the time Castiel starts to file his toenails until he gets an annoyingly bright light in his eyes as one of his cucumbers is removed. He gives Dean a squinty glare when his vision clears enough to see the shiteating grin on his face.

“Hey ladies,” Dean teases, “Having fun getting all dolled up?”

“Fuck you, Dean,” Sam mutters, too relaxed to muster much more than that. Also, his face is feeling a little tight under the clay mask.

Castiel barely raises his gaze from the nail file. “Hygiene is not effeminate.”

Dean, because he is a classless hick, scratches at his balls in protest. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” He kisses Sam with a crinkled nose, before leaning down to press a kiss to Castiel’s ear. “Going to get some grub down the highway, have fun with your little _slumber party_.”

Sam sneers at him. “I _would_ hope you get food poisoning from those tacos, but you’d enjoy that a little too much, wouldn’t you?”

Dean goes pink, but otherwise doesn’t flinch. “Bite me.”

“Tempting,” Sam says, snorting when Dean just flips him off as he heads towards the door. When Castiel chuckles as well, Sam looks down reflexively and is caught, yet again, but how good Castiel looks when casually serving.

He’s wearing sweat pants – _probably Dean’s_ – and a shirt that is entirely too big – _almost_ _definitely Sam’s_ – with water splotches and clay mask splattered on them from this impromptu spa day. The bow of his head as he focuses on what his hands – his hands, _fuck_ – what his hands are doing isn’t quite low enough to disguise the faint pink dusting his cheeks or the way his mouth is open slightly. Sam realizes then that Castiel has zoned out a bit, the file slowing marginally as he gets lost to something in his own head.

Sam jostles his foot, causing Castiel to look up. “What’s up?”

“Sorry,” Castiel says quickly, shaking himself and returning to filing. He stops a moment later when Sam presses down with his foot, gently trapping one of Castiel’s hands against his thigh.

“I didn’t ask for an apology, Cassie,” Sam sternly informs him, though the smile on his face is gentle, teasing.

Castiel’s cheeks darken. Putting down the file, he starts rotating Sam’s ankle seemingly just to give his hands something to do. “I was just thinking,” he admits softly.

“Yeah?” Sam encourages, “Having a fantasy?”

The way Castiel shifts his legs is quite telling, as is the way he suddenly looks smaller. He looks up at Sam from under his lashes, his gaze landing somewhere around Sam’s chin. “Make me tell,” he pleads quietly.

Such a shy baby sometimes, Sam never denies him help when he’s brave enough to ask for it. “What were you fantasizing about?” he asks more directly.

“Dean,” Castiel answers instantly, though he seems to flounder after that. He goes back to filing.

“What about him?” Sam pushes.

Castiel gives a tiny shrug. “I imagined him as something _smaller_ than a little, since I’m…” he motions at himself, an indication to how little he gets when they play.

“What’s smaller than a little?” Sam asks. There are a lot of ways to answer that, but he doesn’t want to guess when Castiel could just tell him.

“Just a… _thing._ Like a dolly.” Castiel’s flush deepens and he uses the towel to wipe Sam’s foot as he finishes filing, says softly, “ _My_ dolly.”

Sam’s eyebrows raise.

Castiel pretty generally doesn’t switch so explicitly, preferring to stay ‘ _under_ ’ Dean, so this is a new impulse. But when Castiel raises his gaze to meet Sam’s, to let Sam see the uncertain but in no way stifled heat in his eyes, Sam’s first impulse is to figure out how to make this happen. He knows that feminization hits somewhere tender for Dean, somewhere _deeper_ than it would for Sam or Castiel. Sam would do it if asked and it wouldn’t cost him more than a blush and some nervous chuckling, but there’s something knotted up in Dean about girly stuff that would make this difficult for him. His macho bravado isn’t _all_ bravado, but sometimes it is and it occurs to Sam he isn’t quite sure why.

Now that he’s thinking about it, though, Dean could probably stand to have that wall taken down.

“Do you want to try it?” Sam asks neutrally.

Castiel rolls his head around in a way that is reminiscent of a shrug, but still isn’t really an answer. He wipes his hands and stands up, taking Sam’s hand to lead him back into the bathroom. “It’d be a lot. I’m not…” he swallows, turning on the tap, waiting for it to warm. “I’m not sure I’d be able to do it alone.”

Sam pinches Castiel’s cheek, smirking when he pouts at him. “You’re not alone, man,” he reminds him. “My only condition is that you say it. If you want it, you have to ask for it.”

Castiel thinks on that for a moment, but his eyes are an interesting combination of giddy and thoughtful. “I’ll need to go shopping first.”

“Take your time,” Sam says then leans down to kiss him. “Don’t talk yourself out of it.”

After Sam has rinsed his face, he stands in front of the mirror letting Castiel dab moisturizer on his lips. He’s tickled to find it tastes like honey. He smudges it on Castiel’s lips with a lingering kiss, “For what it’s worth, I think it could be really good for him.”

“You think he’ll let me?” Castiel asks curiously.

Sam hugs him close, feeling clean and soft and wondering how often Dean gets to think about himself in terms like that. “If you look at him like you just looked at me, he’ll probably let you do anything.”


	2. Chapter 2

A few weeks later, Sam is reading aloud when he looks up and notices Castiel shuffling awkwardly in the doorway. It’s not an unfamiliar look, the well-worn pajamas and the nervous quirk on his brow. Sam expects he wants to be put under with Dean, who is presently sitting docilely on the floor in front of the couch with Sam’s leg tossed over his shoulder.

“All good, Cassie?”

Castiel nods, though he opens his mouth to speak several times before he actually manages to say, “I was thinking.”

Sam perks up immediately. “Yeah?”

“Can I… play with Dean?”

Sam feels Dean shift under him just slightly, willing if confused.

“You mean you want some alone time?” Sam probes.

“No, I mean…” Castiel steps forward, his foot between Dean’s knees and his crotch uncaringly close to his face as he leans to speak to Sam. “I want to try something. _Do_ something to him.”

Dean doesn’t speak, but the conversation passing over his head has his breathing deepening with interest. Sam hums playfully, “Something like what?”

Castiel’s head tips and Sam gets the feeling if he were less nervous his eyes would narrow at Sam’s teasing. As it is, he just answers, “Make him into a dolly.”

Sam smiles at the directness and the way he feels Dean freeze under his leg. He presses down slightly with his heel, demanding stillness. “Oh?” he says, like it’s news to him because the answer to the next part will be, “How?”

Castiel’s face flashes pink, but it doesn’t look like embarrassment. He’s not wavering, he’s thinking— _fantasizing_. “I’d clean him up, I think. Bathe him in all the creams he complains about us using, so he’s all soft and smooth and pink,” he admits haltingly.

“That all?”

“ _No, I want_ …” he growls without looking away from Sam and Sam feels his own dominance rising up to meet the challenge in Castiel’s eyes, he feels them fall into sync, like they’re teaching each other how to dance. “I want to paint his nails, something soft colored,” he continues, “I want put to him in makeup, with pouty pink lips and long eyelashes…”

Dean is trembling between them and it kills Sam that he can’t see his face from this angle.

“Panties and frills,” Castiel admits and it almost breaks in his mouth, “Sam, I bought him a dress.”

“ _Cas…_ ” Dean gasps, only to go shocked silent when Castiel grabs him by the hair.

“I want to doll him up and make him my little toy and…” the words come out firm even though Castiel’s eyes are in that beautiful place between terror and overwhelming arousal. “I want to _take him apart_.”

Sam swallows as Dean starts actively heaving for breath. “Dean?” he says without looking away from Castiel.

“I—fuck…” There’s a breathless pause there in which Castiel lowers his gaze – easy and patient, _blatantly aroused_ – down to meet Dean’s. “ _Fuck,_ ” Dean gasps, “ _Green_ , Cassie, green _,_ ” and Sam _feels_ how much it costs him to admit he wants this.

Castiel does, too, and immediately drops to his knees, straddling Dean’s lap and kissing him breathless. “You are so good, Dee,” he says against Dean’s lips, “I’m gonna make you so pretty.”

Dean’s breath hiccups like he might cry and Sam puts a steadying hand on Dean’s neck, settling his legs on either side of Dean’s body, caging him between them. “So pretty,” Sam agrees, kissing the top of his brother’s head.

“ _Why?_ ” Dean whispers like he couldn’t _possibly_ understand how anyone could see him that way.

“Because you’re sweet,” Castiel kisses him again, “You’re so strong and brave, all the time, but I know you are still so genuinely, naturally silly and kind and _sweet_ inside.”

Dean shakes his head slightly, a reflexive denial. “Cas…”

“You like being broken open to that place,” Castiel continues and Dean’s breath shudders out, “but I want you to _see_ what I feel when I get to touch it.” He kisses Dean possessively, “When I get to feel that soft _little space_ inside of you. I want you to know what it looks like,” Dean gasps when Castiel’s hand drops to his crotch, not quite hard but interested enough, “Then I want you to see what it looks like when you let us mess it up.”

_Fuck_ , Sam is aching, he’s already hard enough to hurt, but he waits, he breathes slowly, strokes Dean’s skin and waits for him to speak.

Eventually, Dean tips his head, giving a small nod before resting his forehead on Castiel’s cheek. “Now?” he whispers, voice small and at once, hesitant and hopeful.

“Only if you want,” Castiel says neutrally. Then lifts his gaze up to Sam when Dean nods again. He looks a lot less nervous and a lot more anticipatory and if Sam had to guess he’d say it was at least ninety percent to do with Dean listing into him, trustingly. “May I, Sammy?”

Sam doesn’t bother with anticipation today. “Yeah, Cassie,” he replies. “How do you want to do this?”

Running a hand through Dean’s hair, Castiel thinks for just a second before his eyes flash as though he’s pieced together a puzzle in his own thoughts. “Do you want to watch me make her?”

The heat that floods through Sam’s chest makes him take a deep breath, hold it to keep from breathing too hard as Dean whispers “ _Fuck_ ,” fisting his hands in Castiel’s shirt.

“Yeah,” Sam says a little breathlessly.

Castiel seems to pull together at that, Sam watching the security of a plan he knows how to execute and willing participants take any of the remaining tension out of his shoulders. He looks patient and thoughtful, a very good look to be sure, especially when topped off with quiet excitement. He takes Dean by the chin and kisses him before getting to his feet.

The way Dean rises is pointedly less graceful, but he is almost innocently eager to please, so much so it doesn’t really seem to faze him that he’s stumbled to follow Castiel. Sam finds the whole thing so endearing he doesn’t let himself laugh as he stands, especially not when Castiel does indeed look very pleased. They follow him without words; Sam because this is Castiel’s show and Dean because he is Castiel’s.

The bathroom on the far end of the hall is large, probably meant to be a room for injured Men of Letters to take baths assisted by others. Today, though, Sam can’t imagine what’s inside, can’t imagine that whoever originally constructed the room had what they’re about to do in mind. Oddly enough, he finds that extremely gratifying.

Castiel stops short and pushes Dean against the wall beside the door. “Stay,” he says, but pauses when he notices the tension in Dean’s shoulders as he obeys. Then he reaches to tug Sam forward, pressing him against Dean’s body and Sam takes the hint. He falls onto Dean with a lingering kiss.

It takes a few moments for Dean to relax into it, mostly because he knows he’s being handled. But regardless of the ulterior motive, Dean loves kissing Sam and soon is lax and getting a little hard as Sam gives him the works. Bathwater running over the sounds of Castiel shuffling around is familiar enough that it’s relaxing, nearly therapeutic. And the fact that Castiel bypasses an attempt at spa music to pop in AC/DC turned down to level 2 is so blatantly for Dean’s benefit, Sam fights not to smile into the kiss.

Dean is breathing a little hard when Castiel comes back out, sleeves pushed up past his elbows and an easy look of concentration on his face. He motions Sam in ahead of them, holding Dean back with a hand stroking his chest. “The chair against the wall is yours.”

“Ok,” Sam replies, then, “Oh, _wow._ ”

It’s amazing what lining the counters with beauty products instead of med kits and weaponry can do for the aesthetic of a room. It feels warmer, and not just of temperature, though the air is already getting thick with the sweet-damp smell of the bathwater. When Sam looks into the steaming tub, he expects bubbles, but finds a glittery mass floating in the water, pink and purple swirls shimmering out of it.

Oh, if Dean wasn’t well on the path to sub space, he’d have a _fit_.

As it stands, Dean goes a comparable shade of pink when Castiel leads him into the room, but otherwise says nothing. When he reaches up for the buttons on his shirt, Castiel catches him by the arms, stroking his thumbs across Dean’s knuckles.

“I don’t need any help,” Castiel says gently, but without room for question, as he kisses Dean’s hands. “Just being here is perfect, Dean. You’re already being good, understand?”

Dean swallows, taking in a quick breath before nodding. “Nothing more specific than that, Cassie?”

“All you have to do is be where I put you,” Castiel answers, unbuttoning Dean’s shirt himself and pushing it off his shoulders. “Just like a baby doll.”

A shudder goes through Dean as it slides to the floor, but he obediently stays lax and moves only when Castiel moves him as he’s undressed. When he’s left standing, naked and slightly hard, Castiel places his clothes out of the way and reaches for the jar that Dean had once joked about wanting to taste, but had never actually used on himself.

Confusion flickers across Dean’s face when Castiel starts to rub the sugar scrub onto his body, but he sways unresistingly under the gentle scraping massage. Dean’s shoulders sag as Castiel’s fingers dig into his palms, up his arms and around to his shoulders. Relaxing never really comes easily to Dean, but they’re still something soothing about watching him slowly unlock, piece by piece under Castiel’s hands. Sam feels himself unlocking sympathetically, even from across the room.

The water is a deep glittering pink by the time Castiel finishes and has Dean step into the tub. Dean sighs as he sinks into it, the shimmering pink water coming up over his shoulders. Castiel sits on the edge of the tub and gently wipes the scrub off his face before laying a towel over Dean’s eyes.

“Shh,” Castiel says when Dean tenses slightly, reaching into the water to stroke Dean’s chest. “You don’t need to see anything,” he continues as Dean relaxes again. “I don’t want your eyes right now and the only thing you’re here for is what I want,” he kisses Dean’s cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds.

That’s all it takes for Dean to still and rest his head against the back of the tub, a slow breath leeching the rest of the tension from his body even when Castiel steps back, clearly walking a little louder than strictly necessary so Dean can keep track of him. With Dean soaking, Castiel starts to set up the rest of his items.

Sam watches both of these things, fascinated.

Lining all the items up like little toy soldiers makes the process seem a little less daunting and complicated, even with the little – pink – make up bag at the end of the row. Castiel dutifully washes Dean with pleasantly light smelling soap, humming along to _Crazy Train_ as he does. Sam smirks at they way Dean’s knee jerks against the side of the tub when Castiel’s hand dips between his legs.

“I’m going to stand you up,” Castiel says, “Don’t open your eyes until I tell you.”

It’s an exercise in trust for Dean to let Castiel move him when he can’t see where he’s going, but it doesn’t appear to strain him at all. Castiel’s hands are on him, moving slow and steady – Dean trusts him and Sam is so in love his chest aches.

Castiel dries him off with a big, fluffy towel before having him step out of the tub completely, clean and heat-pink. The body bar Castiel picks up melts between the combined heat of Dean and Castiel’s skin, leaving a shimmering trail in its wake as Castiel rubs Dean down once again.

Then Castiel pauses, gaze cutting over to Sam. The look they share is a complicated thing, Castiel’s private shyness only mildly obscuring the smug light in his eyes that makes Sam arch an eyebrow in response. Castiel reaches into the cabinet to pull out a pair of panties. They’re simple cotton things, pink with white hearts and just a _tad_ too small for someone of Dean’s anatomy. Sam imagines that was intentional, as Castiel adjusts them around Dean’s dick; Dean’s face gets closer to red than pink. They hug his arousal beautifully.

Sam shifts in his seat, crosses his leg.

Scowling good naturedly at Castiel’s smirk as he crosses the room again, Sam eventually lets his gaze fall back on Dean, admiringly. There’s nothing in the world that could take the strength out of Dean’s appearance – he’s muscle and scars, he’s firm shoulders and callused hands. The rough and tumble confidence Dean wears like an armor is not faked, not at all. But still, standing barefoot in nothing but a pair of panties, skin shimmering and pink, eyes closed and trusting, is a natural – if generally hidden – part of Dean, too.

Dean is especially beautiful when he can’t hide himself, Sam thinks, gaze traveling down to the looseness of Dean’s stance.

A flash of motion catches his attention and he looks back to Castiel, only for his heart to suddenly hammer in his chest.

The dress is pink.

There isn’t any reason for Sam to have _expected_ a different color, but still, it’s a bit of a shock to actually see it. It’s the sort of soft, baby pink that Dean has never worn in his life, but that Sam abruptly, desperately wants to see on him. It’s a short little thing, with a white frilled collar and tiny white buttons down the chest. The buttons stop at a line of frill where the skirt begins, belling out slightly and rimmed with lace and it would _barely_ hit Dean’s mid-thigh and—

“Do you like it?” Castiel asks and his smugness has faded a little, under the same nearly breathless anticipation Sam feels roiling in his chest.

Dean notices the change, but though his head tips slightly, listening, his eyes remained closed.

Sam stares at the dress for him. “It’s—” he clears the catch in his throat, “It’s real nice, Cas, she’s gonna be so pretty. Good choice.”

Castiel blushes sweetly at the praise, crossing over to Dean who is similarly blushing. “Leg up,” he says and Dean steps into the dress, shakily once he realizes what it is. Castiel has him sit with his back to the mirror once it’s buttoned up. He paints Dean’s nails to match the dress. “Don’t touch anything,” he says as he finishes and Sam belatedly realizes wet nails are a great way to remind Dean to keep his hands still. “I don’t want them to smudge.”

Dean swallows and lets his hands dangle by his sides, fingers carefully spread. He might be shaking a little.

“I’m going to have you open your eyes in a moment,” Castiel says, “Don’t look down, keep your eyes on me, ok?” It sounds like a suggestion, not an order. Dean’s curiosity might get the better of him and Castiel wouldn’t blame him, but also, Dean is nothing if not up for a challenge.

Dean lets his eyes creak open and looks straight up at Castiel who gazes down at him proudly.

The makeup Castiel puts on makes Dean’s face appear eased. Sam can’t deny he’s had the thought in passing that Dean – with his bright, pretty eyes and long lashes – would look good in makeup, but he hadn’t imagined it like this. He’d thought of dark eyeshadow and sharp winged eyeliner, cherry red lips twisted in a smirk – something just as aggressively confident as Dean’s masculinity. But even without having _actually_ seen that to compare, he already thinks Dean with liquid-shiny, translucent pink lips and the dusting of rosy blush on his cheekbones is his favorite. When Castiel neatly lines his eyes and applies mascara, Dean is clearly struggling to stay still. Castiel and Sam both smile as he mostly succeeds.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Castiel says, stroking Dean’s hair, “You look gorgeous.”

Dean squirms under the complement, but obediently remains quiet.

“I’m almost done,” Castiel says and Sam can hardly imagine what he’s got left.

When Castiel pulls out a strip of long white satin, Sam’s first thought is that it’s a sash for the dress. For some reason it makes his mouth go dry when Castiel loops and ties it into a big bow at the top of Dean’s head. He finishes and just stands there, staring in wonder and love at what he’s created. The doll he’s created staring back at him, clearly flustered by having so obviously pleased his maker without having to struggle. Dean blinks, awed, when Castiel touches his face reverently before taking Dean’s hands. “Stand.”

Dean stands, but Sam does, too, coming closer as Castiel backs Dean up to the big mirror in the corner of the room.

For Sam, it was a slow acclimation. Watching his big brother disappear under the creams and powders, soft fabrics in soft colors he would otherwise never wear.

When Castiel turns Dean around to face the mirror, though, the shock of finding himself obscured visibly passes through his body. His already pinched-pink cheeks flush splotchy red, the color making a slow crawl down his neck and across the visible part of his chest. The lip gloss is soft, but still strings a little between his lips when Dean’s mouth falls open without a sound beyond a rush of breath. His lashes flutter beautifully against his cheeks as he blinks at himself, uncomprehendingly.

“Look at you,” Castiel says lightly, gripping Dean’s arms harder when he takes a startled step back into his chest. “Isn’t she pretty, Sammy?”

“So pretty, Cassie,” Sam says, “You did a beautiful job.”

Dean’s mouth is still moving like he wants to speak, but can’t find the words, gagged with his own shock.

“Relax your body,” Castiel says rubbing his hands down Dean’s arms then up his back, across his shoulders, round his throat. “Relax your face,” he continues, stroking his fingers down Dean’s cheeks, “You don’t have to do anything. I know you’re all mixed up, that’s ok, you don’t have to explain it right now. You don’t even have to think. I’ll let you know if I want something from you. In fact,” he touches Dean’s nose, eyes crinkling with a smile when Dean’s reflection finches, startled. “I have this handy button for when I want to hear your voice. You can just stay quiet unless you need a safeword, ok?”

Dean’s throat bobs, still staring at himself wide-eyed, but he nods.

“Good girl,” Castiel says and Dean doesn’t quite succeed in stifling the wounded sound that escapes him. Castiel touches his nose again. “Can you say a color, Dolly?”

“Green,” Dean croaks.

“Good. Tell me you’re pretty,” Castiel touches his nose again.

Dean wavers for a moment, uncertain, like he thinks Castiel might be teasing. “I—I’m… pretty?”

“Yes, you are,” Castiel agrees, touches his nose once more. “Again.”

“I’m pretty,” Dean repeats, eyes flickering to Sam who is in mild shock, but smiles kindly when their eyes lock.

“That’s right,” Sam says. “You’re Cassie’s pretty dolly.”

“Say it,” Castiel says. Touch.

“I’m a—I’m your pretty dolly.”

Touch.

“I’m your pretty dolly.”

Touch.

“I’m your pretty dolly.”

Castiel carries on, even when he gets between Dean and the mirror, makes him take blind, trusting steps backwards as he speaks. It becomes a chant shortly, a mantra that leads Dean to a different place than Sam has ever tried to take him. Over a few minutes of gentle touching “ _I’m your pretty dolly,_ ” goes from uncertain, to embarrassed, to forced confidence, to a quiet statement of an absolute and agreed upon fact.

“I’m your pretty dolly,” Dean confesses, shaky and dreamy about the eyes, and Castiel looks like he wants to eat him alive in the _worst_ sort of way.

“Yes…” Castiel agrees lowly, but his eyes are bright when he turns to Sam, caught between a craftsman’s pride and juvenile excitement. “Can we go to the play room, Sammy?” he says, one hand tugging the skirt of Dean’s dress, the other clenched in his own pants as he bounces slightly, hopelessly excited.

Sam grins at him, ruffling his hair. “Of course, sweetie, come on.”

Castiel grabs Dean’s hand and tugs him along, “Come on, Dolly, let’s play!” he exclaims and Sam chuckles. He isn’t sure exactly what sort of play they’re in for, but he can hope.

As it turns out, Dean _is_ the game they’re playing.

Castiel makes him stand in the middle of the room, touches his nose again.

“…I’m a pretty dolly,” Dean supplies after a moment lost to staring at Castiel.

“The prettiest dolly,” Castiel agrees, turns to Sam, rocking back on his heels giddily. “You know she’s special?”

“Oh?” Sam says, interestedly, sitting in a nearby chair. “She is?”

“Uh-huh,” He nods, rubbing his hands over Dean’s chest, looking up at the bow on his head as he cups Dean’s face. “She was made just for us!” it makes Dean’s eyes cross when Castiel presses their noses together. “We can do whatever we want with her,” he adds sweetly, like it’s a threat, like it doesn’t make Dean go nearly slack jawed with want.

“That makes her very special,” Sam agrees. “What do you want to do with her?”

Castiel hums, head bobbing in thought. “Gotta think about it,” he says. Then he licks his lips and bops Dean’s nose. “Sing for us.”

There’s a shocked argument right on the tip of Dean’s tongue, Sam can practically see it, but when Castiel pinches his nose with a petulant look, he swallows it. He’s beet red, but starts out, “ _It’s… It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday. The regular crowd shuffles in…_ ”

For however hilarious it is, it’s also very fitting. Dean sang to Sam when he was awake and upset, when he thinks Sam was too young to even remember. It wouldn’t make sense for a dolly like Dean to sing lullabies like the others, not traditional ones anyway; soft rock songs _were_ their lullabies. Castiel wasn’t there for that, but he must know because at once his face goes love-struck and pleased.

When he takes Dean’s hands and swings them, as close to dancing as Castiel really ever gets, Sam is set to calm himself down, stow the fire away and watch his darling play with his new toy. But then Castiel kisses Dean’s fingers, his palms, comes close to kiss his throat – making his voice catch – before he steps away, walking in a slow circle around Dean. Still little and charming, but Sam can see the way Castiel’s intent gaze is making Dean squirm, believes it to be intentional. There’s something impish about him now, a sweet sort of meanness in his eyes. He stops behind Dean.

“When I pinch her shoulder, she’s going to relax everything,” Castiel tells Sam, though the instructions are for Dean. “She’s going to go completely limp.”

“Neat trick,” Sam comments and then Castiel does, gently gripping Dean’s shoulder. It’s weirdly satisfying to watch Dean slump, trustingly, into Castiel’s arms, slack, even his head dipped towards his chest.

Castiel holds his weight easily, even if he lets him dangle, looking down at him and giggling. “Raggedy Dee!” he exclaims happily and Sam laughs with him, watching as Castiel lowers himself to the floor, Dean lax in his arms, between his legs. He kisses Dean’s face, patting his chest and tummy with thoughtlessly excited hands. “She’s so soft and pretty and…” his hand lands at the crux of Dean’s thighs, because of course it does, and lingers there when Dean jerks, subtly. Castiel is stroking him through the dress and Dean’s breath trembles out of his mouth. “And I want to…” his face twists and he whines a little, shifting his hips under Dean’s weight, “I feel funny.”

Sam plays along because this is a fun game. He gives a sympathetic pout, “ _Bad_ funny?”

“Uh-uh,” Castiel blinks up at him.

“Oh, good funny?” Sam smiles, leaning forward. “Is your dolly making you happy?”

“Mhm,” Castiel hums, nodding and rubbing his cheek against Dean’s as he absently fondles his crotch. “She’s so pretty and good, I wanna… I wanna _use_ her.” He looks up with scheming eyes, “Can I, Sammy?”

Dean’s throat clicks as he swallows and Sam stands to come close, watching the flush brighten Dean’s exposed skin. He touches his nose.

“I’m your pretty dolly,” he agrees and Sam nods, ruffling Castiel’s hair.

“Let me grab something to make that easier, ok?” Sam says, because he thinks he understands what’s happening. There’s lube in this playroom, Sam knows exactly where, but Castiel is up to something Sam is supposed to pretend not to know about.

 

(And Cassie watches him go with love all over his face because his Sammy is so smart, his Sammy catches on fast. And his new Dolly is smart, too, she looks all flushed and anxious, waiting for what he’s going to do to her, but he’s not going to hurt her. His Dolly is special and sweet and has to be _broken-in_ before she gets broken, and he knows just what she likes. When he slides out from behind her, she lays out on the floor like she was dropped there, but Cassie isn’t going far, wouldn’t let her out of his sight. He spreads her legs and feels along her arousal, cooing as she fights to be still, but she does _so_ well he loves her to bits and tells her. When his fingers close around the tip of her cock, a hard outline under her dress, he pulls out his own and presses it there. He wills himself calm as he quietly tells her a secret. When her eyes pop wide, her mouth falling open on a wheezy breath, he bops her nose again. “ _I’m a pretty dolly_ ,” she whispers right on cue, though it’s strained, hoarse with arousal. “Good girly,” Cassie says, because she is, and forces himself to relax as she trembles.)

 

Sam doesn’t know how long Castiel had wanted, but he walks slowly when he grabs the lube from Dean’s room at the far end of the hall. He makes noise as he gets close, allows for more than enough time for Castiel to know he’s coming, but Sam gets to watch as he pretends to fumble himself back into his pants.

“Well, what happened here?” Sam says admonishingly.

Castiel pouts down at Dean sadly, motioning to the spot on his dress, the puddle under his ass. “Dolly had an accident.”

“Oh, did she?” Sam says shaking his head, “Well, that’s no good. Is she broken?”

“I dunno,” Castiel shrugs, nervously chewing his fingertips. “She shouldn’t make messes without asking.”

This could go a lot of ways and Sam would follow all of them to the end. “No, she shouldn’t. So what do we do about it, sweetie?”

“…Mess her up,” Castiel tells to Sam, but it kicks up at the end suggesting it’s a question. His eyes are a little blown and Sam honestly can’t guess which side of the spectrum is doing that.

That heats his insides in the best possible way.

Sam smirks at him. “You want me to do it for you?” he asks, getting down on the floor with Castiel on Dean’s other side. “To break your dolly?”

Dean lets out a tiny, involuntary sound and Castiel’s breath catches.

“We—we gotta get inside to know what’s wrong with her,” Castiel says and when Sam reaches to pull his hand from his mouth, he sucks on Sam’s fingers instead, quick pulls, nervous with excitement.

Sam strokes Castiel’s tongue – to rile him up or calm him down, he isn’t sure at this point – tweaks Dean’s nose. “Tell me a color, Dee.”

“ _Guh_ ,” is what comes out at first, desperate and breathy, “Green.”

Grinning, Sam smears Dean’s lip gloss across his cheek. “She’s so pretty, how could you _not_ want to mess her up?”

Castiel is nodding now, runs a finger across Dean’s damp arousal making him arch and stiffen there before he catches himself. Castiel lets Sam’s fingers out of his mouth. “She’s empty now, we gotta fill her up, too!” He leans down to lick the glittery smear Sam left on Dean’s cheek, kisses his mouth with a sloppy tongue.

“Do we?” Sam says and – his pulse stumbles when he realizes Dean isn’t even kissing back – _yes, fuck, yes_ , he wants it, wants Dean, a broken doll, mindless, pretty and fucked in a puddle of Castiel’s— “Cas,” he interrupts his own snowballing thoughts, running a hand down Dean’s chest, feeling his heart pounding under his palm.

Castiel pauses at his tone, lips deliciously pink and slick when he turns. “Sammy?”

Sam smiles, dark and slow, _everything’s ok._ “I’ll buy her a new dress.”

Castiel’s eyes flash in understanding. “Ok.”

Sam rips open the front of the dress, buttons pinging off in all directions. Dean’s skin tastes almost sweet where Sam leans to bite his chest, getting a pained whimper as he bites down hard enough to leave a mark that’ll smart for hours. Castiel kisses Dean again, smothering the sound when Sam moves over to Dean’s nipple. Dean is obediently still, but he’s heaving for breath between them, already wonderfully disoriented.

“You know,” Sam lets his eyes go a little hard when he looks up from Dean’s chest. He reaches down to grab Dean’s balls, squeezing in a wordless threat that has Dean’s thighs tensing. “I didn’t actually hear him tell you to stop singing,” he growls out and Dean’s eyes go wide.

“ _T-take me if you need me, but never hold me down…_ ” Dean warbles, but Sam does exactly that, putting his arm across Dean’s chest so he’s holding him down with a good bit of his weight. He shifts so he’s straddling one of Dean’s legs, when he reaches for Castiel’s mouth again.

It’s not nearly wet enough, not for the purpose Sam intends, but that’s the point. When Sam takes his hand back and pulls Dean’s panties to the side, Castiel groans. When he presses two fingers inside, Dean’s voice stalls out.

“Sammy, I think it’s voice is broken, too,” Castiel murmurs sadly, running his fingers along Dean’s throat before squeezing. It’s not enough to cut off Dean’s air, but enough that his eyes go dark and wild where they lock on Castiel’s.

“Not yet,” Sam says and skirts the limit of shoving in as raw as Dean can take. He’s going to use lube, of course, but he wants Dean _aching_ for it. “If it won’t sing, it’s mouth must be for something else,” he offers.

Castiel doesn’t take his hand off Dean’s throat even when he taps his nose with his off hand.

“I’m—I’m a pretty do—dolly,” Dean gasps, sounds like he’s begging for it to be true.

The giggle that suddenly bubble out of Castiel sounds genuinely tickled, a contrast to the savage way he bites Dean’s cheek, leaving a red ring of teeth, leaving Dean whining under his palm. “She sure _sounds_ broken.”

“We can do better,” Sam says, curling his finger up until Dean is rocking between pushing deeper and pulling away. Sam puts his weight on Dean’s thigh. “It’s still moving.”

“Sammy,” Castiel says, sporadically squeezing and releasing Dean’s throat.

“Yeah, sweetie?”

Castiel’s eyes are dark when he looks up to Sam, up out of little space just enough to seem like he’s towering over wherever Dean has fallen to. “Her throat is really nice.”

Sam swallows, _fuck_ , does he know it. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” This time when he squeezes, Dean’s air actually seems restricted, his mouth opening involuntarily. Where there should be instinctual panic, Dean just lies, trustingly, hands open and ass clenching around Sam’s fingers. “Can I…?” he swallows, boldness shining sudden and bright on his face. “Can I _fuck_ her throat, Sammy? ‘til you open her up?”

Sam cranes up to kiss Castiel right on his filthy mouth. “I oughta scrub your tongue with soap,” he growls, “But, then again, that’s all it’s for, isn’t it? Her throat is only for everything you want?”

Castiel sinks a little, shudders against his mouth as Dean shudders beneath them. “Yes, Sammy.”

“Then fuck her throat ‘til you’re good and hard, but don’t you dare come yet,” Sam warns. “You gotta save that, ok?”

“Ok, Sammy,” Castiel agrees shakily and then stands to shuck his pants while Sam nearly carelessly flops Dean onto his stomach and flips up his skirt. Castiel sits so he has to leverage Dean’s shoulders onto his legs and still wrenches Dean’s head up to get his mouth to the right angle, the white satin of the bow peeking through his fingers. Sam’s hands itch for a camera. Dean’s mouth falls open without hesitation and Castiel’s face is beautifully blown open already. “She—” he takes a hard breath to cover the catch in his voice, “If she needs to stop, she’ll grab me. Otherwise she doesn’t need to move at all.”

“ _I’m a pretty dolly,_ ” Dean agrees desperately and Castiel rewards him by greedily shoving Dean’s head down onto his cock, half choking him.

“Oh, _Sammy_ ,” Castiel whines with all the same lewd reverence people call on deities, “She’s so good, she’s so _wet_.”

That’s a good enough incentive for Sam to hurry along, but he also can’t make himself. “I know she is,” he says, skirting his fingers along the edge of Dean’s panties, watching gooseflesh spring up as the damp skin is exposed to the air. “Don’t come.”

Castiel whimpers, fucking rough and deep into Dean’s mouth, gripping his hair, touching his face. “Yes, I— _oh,_ ” he pulls Dean up long enough to let him take a squeaky breath before pushing back in and holding him down. “ _I’ll try._ ”

“You _will_ ,” Sam says, tugging Dean’s panties off, tossing them aside. He rakes his nails down the backs of Dean’s thighs, watching his muscles twitch and dance under the attention. He spreads Dean’s cheeks, a hot rush coming over him at the familiar sight as he teases Dean’s hole with his thumb. “You’re coming in your dolly’s ass, honeybee.”

Sam would venture that the breaths Castiel lets Dean gulp in at that are more for his benefit than Dean’s.

Leaning over to grab the lube, Sam opens Dean up with thorough, practiced fingers. He works nearly without looking, instead staring up at Castiel who’s mouth is hanging open, flushed and heavy lidded as he sheaths himself in Dean’s mouth until he twitches and gags before giving him a breath. As Sam follows the easy slide of Dean’s head, the quivering looseness in his body, he has the thought that, well, yes, dolls _should_ be that easy.

Dolls are only for the pleasure of their owners, he thinks, even as he curls his fingers firmly enough to make Dean choke around Castiel. Dolls should be still and take it, should be open and slick when wanted, _made_ to be fucked.

Sam stretches Dean more than he normally would ask for, leaving him loose and practically dripping with more lube than was probably expressly necessary. “All wet like a girl,” he mutters and Castiel has to abruptly pull out, biting his lip hard enough that he nearly draws blood.

“Fuck her,” Castiel gasps, one hand holding up Dean’s head, the other fisted in the open collar of his dress. “Sam, _Sammy,_ come in her.”

Dean makes a choked off sound that Sam has to fight not to mirror. Whatever Castiel sees on his face, Sam can practically feel the rabbiting of his heartbeat from across Dean’s body, the sharp aroused not-quite-fear that cuts through him.

“Oh, you want her loosened up?” Sam challenges, “Want me to open her up with my dick so she’s soft inside? So you can fuck my come into her?”

Castiel’s voice breaks around a groan. “ _Please._ ”

Sam is about to tell Castiel to get Dean up on his knees before he decides he likes Castiel right where he is and is more than strong enough to manage that himself. He forces Dean into the right position, before putting a hand on his spine, stroking the warm fabric of his dress. “Stay,” he says firmly. “Unless you need out, you stay right where you are, understand? You’re a toy, you aren’t meant to be moving, right?” He pinches Dean’s nose until he opens his mouth.

“ _I’m a pretty dolly,_ ” Dean gasps nasally against Castiel’s hip, sounds raspy and close to tears. Sam takes a look at his face; no fear, no pain, just desperate, _desperate_ and Sam wants to fuck him right through this floor.

“Yeah, you are,” Sam says, shoving his sweats off his hips.  He presses in with one smooth thrust, his eyes falling shut as Dean lets out a noisy breath. “ _Such a good doll._ ”

Being inside Dean is something Sam never takes lightly. The first hint of his brother’s body taking him in, the pleasure Dean gets from it, too, always makes him pause at the sheer intensity of the feeling. The feeling never quite passes, but when it dims enough for Sam to breathe around, he digs his fingers into Dean’s waist and rolls into a steady rhythm.

Castiel is watching him with parted lips, his hands gripping Dean’s dress, cradling his head. His eyes are blown with arousal and Sam feels hot under his gaze as he stares back, heart drumming in his ears. He makes himself focus, bites his lip and tries to take Dean as hard as he likes without racing too quickly to orgasm, but _fuck_.

“I did a good job on her?” Castiel says, shifting Dean haphazardly in a way Sam recognizes is an attempt to reach him. Groaning, he bears down on Dean, leaning forward so Castiel can kiss him desperately. “You like her, Sammy?”

“You did so good, Cassie,” Sam replies shakily, “You made her just for us and she feels like it. She’s the best _thing_ I’ve ever put my dick in.” He fucks himself into a punishing pace when Dean whimpers beneath him, “It’s like she was made for hanging off my cock, getting her ready for you.”

Castiel’s arms clench around Dean, a hand tight in his hair. “It’s where she belongs,” he says dazedly, “Right here, between us, my dolly.”

“Yes,” Sam hisses as his orgasm sizzles towards him. His voice is tight when he tips down and drags his sweaty forehead against Dean’s shoulder, “I’m gonna get her wetter for you.”

“ _Ohhh,_ ” Dean gasps, drawn out and involuntary. Sam smacks his thigh anyway, making the sound shatter in Dean’s mouth.

“ _Please_ ,” Castiel begs and Sam, pounding down into Dean’s warmth, comes so hard he loses track of everything but that feeling. It takes a moment for him to realizes Castiel’s eyes have gone wide, as he starts moaning loud enough to almost rival Dean. Sam is stuck in the throes of his own orgasm, too drunk on the pleasure of coming inside his brother to realize _why_ for a moment.

Then he hears it.

Dean’s breath is unsteady, his whole body shaking only to jolt almost violently when Sam reaches underneath him to find Dean’s piss dribbling down the front of his dress, onto the floor, onto Castiel.

“ _Oh, oh_ ,” Dean gasps, high and anxious and Sam feels an aftershock of pleasure streak through him at Dean so lost, so out of control of himself. He strokes a hand over Dean’s stomach, pressing in and Dean _wails_ , gushing uncontrollably.

“She’s leaky,” Sam comments breathlessly, shaking his sweaty hair out of his eyes. Castiel’s face is contorted with a near-feral _want_ when he manages to look up from Dean’s face. “I guess she really does need you to fill her up.”

A wrecked sound escapes Castiel and he starts moving restlessly, unsure of what to do with himself. “ _Sam_ ,” he growls like a warning.

“Let her down, Cassie,” Sam says and Castiel obeys dazedly, sliding out from under Dean and crawling over to Sam’s side. His breath stutters when he sees the bright pink of Dean’s rim fluttering around Sam’s cock.

“She’s so open for you,” Sam says, sliding a finger around the rim, nearly pressing in alongside his cock and hearing Dean _gurgle_ at the sensation. “You wanna use her?”

Castiel whines, mouth suddenly on him desperately like he’s begging with kisses. “Please, Sammy,” he says, his arousal wet and bobbing between them. Sam catches him by the wrist before he can touch himself. “ _Please._ ”

Begging does it for Sam, it really does, but he doesn’t make him wait too long. He slides out, watching as a trickle of come follows, making something possessive swell happily in his chest. “Come in her,” he says, moving out of the way and pulling Castiel forward, “Make sure she knows who she belongs to.”

The tiny sob that escapes Dean sounds so lost, Sam aches for him. He leans down to kiss Dean’s cheek, tap his nose.

Even kneeling ass up in a puddle of piss, even with his dress torn open and his ass leaking come, even with light lines of mascara trekking down his face, Dean’s body lists backwards in anticipation. “ _I’m a pretty dolly_ ,” he cries and it’s true, it’s absolutely true.

Sam moves out of the way just in time for Castiel’s control to run out. He flips Dean onto his back and Dean lands in the puddle with a groan that turns into a shout when Castiel shoves into him, balls deep with no preamble. He bites Dean’s nose. “Say it again,” he demands.

Dean looks up at him dazedly, tears leaking into his hair. “I’m a pretty dolly.”

Castiel hikes Dean’s thighs up, clenches his wet dress in one fist and Dean’s wrist flat against the ground in the other. The stretch pulls him in just _that_ much deeper and Dean’s mouth stretches wide. “Again,” Castiel says. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m a pretty dolly,” Dean gasps though the words start to bounce as Castiel jostles him with the hard rhythm of his hips.

“Keep saying it,” Castiel pants, “I made you for this, prove you know it.”

“ _Shit,_ Cassie,” Sam says.

Dean, with his legs folded back and half sobbing, looks like he barely remembers how to breathe, let alone speak. But the rasp of his voice seems to do it even better for Castiel when he pants against Castiel’s lips, “I’m your pretty dolly,” repeatedly, voice getting higher and more desperate with every stroke, the phrase slurring almost incoherently together.

Sam strokes Dean’s sweaty hair, fingers the bow around his head as he watches the muscles of Castiel’s back contract and relax with half-lidded eyes. When he gives into the urge to grab Castiel’s ass, sliding teasingly down his crack, Castiel grunts into Dean’s mouth, grinding deep into Dean and back against Sam’s hand. “I’m wanna come in her, I— _Sammy_.”

“I think you should,” Sam rumbles against Castiel’s jaw, “Show her how good she makes you feel.”

Like Sam’s voice is a command, because it so often is, Castiel’s breath heaves out of his chest and he ruts into Dean as he orgasms, grip clenching tighter on Dean’s hip. “Oh, _Dee_ ,” he groans, “Good girl, such a good doll, aren’t you?”

“I’m your pretty dolly, I’m— Pretty— Please, _please_ ,” Dean breaks into sobs, still painfully hard beneath Castiel.

“You _are_ so pretty,” Castiel says, kissing and licking the tears off Dean’s cheek. “Such a pretty girl, my favorite dolly.” The sound Dean makes is unadulterated want, high whining without any actual words and it sets Castiel to petting Dean all over, seemingly unable to stop. “I’ll fix you up,” he promises as he slides out.

Dean cries out mournfully at the loss, only to buck and keen when Castiel curls four fingers into Dean’s sloppy hole. “ _Please!_ ” he sobs, when Castiel rubs circles into his prostate.

“I’ll put you right back together again, like a good toy,” Castiel continues like Dean hadn’t spoken, “Right, Sammy?”

Sam smiles. “You sure will, baby,” he answers, syrupy with pleasure. He snakes his hand down to wrap his fingers around Dean’s cock, making him writhe. “You’ll take good care of your dolly so you can break her over and over ‘til there’s nothing left. ‘Til she’s nothing but a hole for—”

Dean howls, arching up under Castiel as he comes, and oh, it’s a beautiful thing.

Eyes gone glassy like real doll eyes, wide and unseeing as he breaks his stillness, his free hand coming up to clutch at Sam’s shirt, nails catching skin. He’s crying loudly, uncontrollably it seems, but Castiel just kisses his open mouth, shushing him. Sam pets his trembling stomach, ignoring – not really, not _at all_ – the jizz he’s pressing into the fabric.

“Oh, poor dolly,” he coos in a gentle voice, kissing Dean’s temple.

“It’s ok, Dee, my doll baby,” Castiel says, stroking the tears on Dean’s cheeks before tracing his lips.  He wavers when Dean dazedly opens his mouth to suck the salt from his fingers, whimpering. “She’s all messed up,” he says with quiet awe.

Sam reaches up to stroke Castiel’s head soothingly. “Well, be sure to be a big boy and clean her up. You like her don’t you?” he asks, kisses Dean’s face when the question makes him hiccup for breath.

Castiel doesn’t hesitate when he whispers, “I love her.” He strokes his fingers soothingly over Dean’s tongue when the answer makes him whimper, eyes damp and pink when they open to look adoringly up at Castiel.

“I do, too,” Sam replies softly, warmth blooming in his chest. “So let’s take good care of her.”

They wait until Dean’s breathing levels off before they help him to his feet without letting him get so much as an _inch_ away from at least one of them.

The cleanup is not nearly as big a production as getting Dean dressed, mostly because they’re quick. They wash Dean down in the shower with the same soap, just enough to get the smell of urine off of him and the makeup – most of it anyway – off his face. His eyes are still smudged a little dark, but the pink on his cheeks is all natural, even the red circle left by Castiel’s teeth. Sam kisses it as they get out, then hugs Dean close when that makes him shudder with a half-suppressed whine.

“That was a lot, huh?” Sam says as Castiel wraps a towel around them, pressing his own cheek against Dean’s shoulder when he nods.

“Are you ok?” Castiel asks, goes instantly when Dean opens his arm to tug Castiel closer.

“Yeah, but. I want…” Dean gets choked up, voice tearing around the edges even as he softly asks, “Can I keep the dress?”

Sam feels something sharp in his chest, the dress sitting in a heap on the floor, destroyed. He cups Dean’s cheek. “Oh, Dee, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d—”

“No,” Dean quickly cuts in, kissing Sam’s wrist. “No, I mean like… like it is.” His face is shy when he reaches for Castiel’s hand, looking down at his feet. “Little boys are rough with their d… their _dolls_ , sometimes, right?”

The wide-eyed want on Castiel’s face gives Dean the confidence to look him in the eye. Yes, he’s ok. Yes, he enjoyed it. Yes, yes, he’d do it again.

Castiel kisses him, nearly vibrating in place. “I’ll fix it, Sammy,” he turns to Sam excitedly, holding Dean’s hand tightly in his. “Can I keep my dolly if we fix her? Fix her dress?”

“Of course,” Sam says, more than happy to hear this isn’t a one-off deal. “I’m sure Dean would love that.”

“Dean would,” Dean replies, still very spacey, but slowly coming back to himself. Even though Dean still lingers nearly underfoot, Castiel lets him take the towel to finish drying himself and get dressed on his own.

However, when Dean reaches to put his dress with the laundry, he freezes there. Sam is just about to ask what’s wrong when he realizes Dean is staring at his own hand in something like shock. Oh. It seems they’d both forgotten about the nail polish.

 “There’s remover in the medicine cabinet,” Castiel says, coming over and kissing his cheek. “Do you want me to do it for you?”

Castiel doesn’t look remotely surprised when Dean, mutely, shakes his head.

Sam comes up on Dean’s other side, taking his hand and running a gentle thumb across the backs of his fingers. “Not ready yet?” he asks, then makes a low humming sound when Dean’s lip wobbles. He kisses him. “You can keep them as long as you want.”

“I’ll do them again whenever you want,” Castiel adds.

It takes a few breaths for Dean to shake himself, nodding an embarrassed thanks at them before returning to the task at hand. They toss in a load of laundry and wind up piled on Dean’s bed without incident, Dean still sweetly low and clingy. Sam yawns as he curls around Dean’s back, thinking about ordering-in for dinner, thinking about taking a nap, thinking about fancy soaps and dresses and dolls and how stupidly in love he is with Dean and Castiel.

For the rest of the night, Sam and Castiel can’t quite keep the smiles off their faces whenever Dean catches sight of the flash of color on his hands and goes pink all over again. Even when he catches them smiling and starts yelling at them, they’re all warm with joy.

“Can you blame us? You’re pretty in pink,” Sam says with a careless shrug that makes the color on Dean’s face darken.

Castiel laughs when Sam eats the pizza crust Dean throws at him out of spite.

At this rate, pink might just become Sam’s favorite color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading…weather’s changing! maybe you should have a spa day cope?
> 
> Well, gee, I sure do romanticize lush products for someone who’s purchased a grand total of about three.  
>  _Well, gee, I sure do romanticize big, bad, hunter Dean Winchester losing control and sobbing during sex._
> 
> Dean is singing _The Piano Man_ by Billy Joel and _Sleeping Angel_ by Stevie Nicks because… There’s a scene in the show where Dean mentions playing soft rock to put Sam to sleep, so a dolly baby that sings soft rock seems like the cutest thing, gosh, ok, anyway, hope you enjoyed!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Castiel and his dolls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14702085) by [Cagedandfree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cagedandfree/pseuds/Cagedandfree), [Kinky_AF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinky_AF/pseuds/Kinky_AF)




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